


It's Just the Way the Game is Played

by kristin



Category: The Wire
Genre: Character of Color, Gen, offensive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristin/pseuds/kristin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wallace really got into the whole chess thing. He made Bodie play with him, even after some dope fiend stole all the white pieces while high." 5 times Bodie talked about chess. Spoilers through the end of Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just the Way the Game is Played

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elynross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elynross/gifts).



> Warning: Language and dialogue reflect the contents of the show. This includes both explicit swearing in addition to racial and sexual epithets.
> 
> Thanks so much to stars for the endless hand-holding. I could not, muchless would not, have done this without her. Thanks also to Idella for the beta.
> 
> Thanks most of all to elyn, for all the hard work she does to make Yuletide possible.

****

PAWN

Wallace really got into the whole chess thing before he died. He made Bodie play with him, even after some fucking zombie dope fiend stole all the white pieces while high. Instead they ripped up some napkins and drew the shapes. The pieces kept blowing around all over the fucking place, but it worked enough to make long ass stretches of time in the pit go a bit quicker.

Wallace would try to set up fancy strategies, laying out big plans like he was Stringer or some other smart-ass nigger. The thing about it though, he was fucking shit at it. Bodie whipped his ass almost every time they would play. He just moved the little pieces were they needed to go, simple as that.

D'Angelo would wander over from his lookout on the couch, look all proud, like he was Wallace's mentor, which was just fucking gay as all shit in Bodie's opinion. Wallace just lapped that stuff up, would sit up straight and try to make pronouncements and lay out his plans like he was George Washington or something. Of course, after that faggot boy of Omar's got shot Wallace didn't beam like that no more, and they played a lot less.

When Wallace left on his fucking beach vacation Bodie moved the board to his Grandma's crib. It looked right there, the curves of the plastic pieces seemed like something that should be inside, rather than out in the pit. Probably because only punk-ass house cat niggers played chess, no matter what D'Angelo said. That motherfucker was strange sometimes.

He thought about maybe buying some white pieces for it, but they didn't sell those bitches separate from the black ones, and he wasn't some sort of geeky schoolboy who would shell out for a new chess set.

After Stringer gave Bodie his orders he took a bus downtown. He put his hood up a block before the store, a cheap but effective shield. The clerk looked down his white nose at Bodie. Fucking sneered like he couldn't believe it.

"Lemme see some chessboards," Bodie said. While waiting for a response he even added on a "please" at the end of it. The fucker didn't even say anything, just pointed to a row in the back.

On the bus back, the bag kept knocking against the piece strapped into his waistband. He left one of the black pawns from the old set on Wallace's cheap city grave.

 

****

BISHOP

 

Brother was still sitting there, calm as you please. Bodie didn't know how the fuck he could do it - just sit there reading a magazine. Wasn't he a soldier? Bodie had to move, because just watching this shit is boring.

He glanced around the corner one more time before strolling out. He was fucking subtle too, not looking around suspiciously or nothing. Of course, Mouzone's man didn't appreciate his stealth. He came up behind Bodie, grabbing his arm. Bodie looked over toward the bench, and there Brother was, crooking his finger, like Bodie had a choice in the matter.

"Fucking shit," Bodie said to himself. He didn't think he was quiet enough because that motherfucker just looked at him all disapproving, like he was Bodie's grandmother. Shaking the muscle off, he stood tall in front of the bench. No way he was showing weakness.

"What is your name, young man?"

"Bodie." He thought about the way Brother spoke, voice all clipped and formal, and corrected himself. "Preston Broadus."

"Well, Mr. Broadus, you and your crews have been watching me for quite a few days now. As I am to understand you work for my current employer, Mr. Barksdale, I must assume you are working as my overseer," he sneered the word," or are you simply a nosy little boy." It did not sound like no question.

"I ain't no fucking boy."

"Oh really. And I am sure you are a man of refinement," Brother said. Bodie shrugged his shoulders, the flash of rage at being called a boy by this bow-tied motherfucker dying down.

"And as such, I don't suppose you would like to discuss the recent rulings by the Supreme Court of California: Lockyer v. Andrade, or perhaps Ewing v. California. I have a feeling they might pertain to you."

"Man, I don't even have one strike yet, why the fuck do you think I would give a rat's ass about three strikes." Bodie felt a wave of satisfaction at the way Brother's eyebrows went up just a fraction. The soldier was strong, but Bodie had got a reaction from him. He went for the kill. "Now, I might not read any of your fancy ass magazines, but didn't you ever hear of NPR? _Fresh Air_ is the shit."

"A man of surprises. Any other tricks hidden up your sleeve?" He said it like he couldn't quite believe it. Fucker.

"I could whip your ass at chess."

"Really. Lamar," Brother motioned to his muscle, pointing out two old civilians playing chess across the way. "Go and ask those gentleman if they would mind not lending us their board for a match." And then he just stared at Bodie. He didn't say anything either, just looked. It was fucking creepy.

When Lamar put the board down in front of them the pieces were all messed, with the little ones scattered around on their sides. Bodie started putting them where they go while Brother kept up the creepy staring. Rather than putting the last little white soldier in its place he placed it two blocks ahead. He was ready to take Brother down.

So they played. Or at least Bodie played. Brother didn't play, no, he fucking massacred, marching his pieces across the board like nothing Bodie's could do would even come close touching him. After his bishop took Bodie's queen he actually bothered to speak. "You show promise, even if your moves are rather untrained."

Bodie got some back for himself, snatching up one of the horse pieces. "People train to play this game? I just know it cause Dee taught me before he passed. See, he told me about how when one of them little pieces gets to the end he get to be queen."

He stopped talking for a minute, waiting to see if Brother would say anything again. Since he didn't, Bodie continued. Fuck if he was going back to the silence. "Now I figure right now I be like one of these little bald headed ones, but I don't plan to stay that way forever. Yo, I mean look me now. I got run of this tower." Bodie captured one of the castle pieces. He might be in check, but he was a smooth motherfucker with that timing.

"Nigger, you aren't even a pawn. You are one of the squares other folk tromp all over. You don't want to learn; to focus your mind. Your brain does not appear to be completely non-functional. You might even try to use it someday." Brother knocked Bodie's king down. "Checkmate. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe that young man standing over there is from the East Side of your city."

And just like that, the fucker walked away. Fuck that shit. Why the fuck did he have to lay on with all that noise about Bodie using his mind. Bodie spat. Anal motherfucker, didn't even insult Bodie to his face, just snuck it in there. Brother weren't no soldier, no, he was one of them blindsiding ones, looking all unassuming before knocking you down cold.

 

****

QUEEN

 

Bodie sometimes wished he had been promoted to lieutenant when they were hanging at Orlando's, with the shorties all naked and the booze flowing. He had gone up there a couple times, running errands and shit, but had never really been there as a big man, gotten to walk back through that dressing room with purpose and the fucking right to be there on his own say-so.

He used to daydream about it while sitting on that damn orange couch in the pit. Stringer, or sometimes even Avon himself, calling him in for a job that needed the most bad-ass of soldiers. He would stride into Orlando's and walk past all those girls. And he would ignore them even as they called out for him, except to maybe reach out and squeeze one full titty before regretfully continuing on into the back.

Walking into a funeral home just don't have the same fucking feel. All the frou-frou flowers and the saccharine scents trying to cover up the smell of the bodies just didn't get a man in the mood. You had to be all hushed and shit, except when some lady was down there wailing over a corpse.

Bodie thought Stringer kinda liked it though, the way all those rowdy-ass niggers had to calm down out of respect for the dead folk. Then he got to stride up there to the podium and let them know what was what in a calm businessman voice. Just about the only way to get those people quiet was to stick them in a church or funeral home.

Bodie included himself in that group. No way would he sit quiet enough for some rules and orders bullshit except for respect for the dead. Stringer was smart for sure.

"He even look like a queen when he up there."

"What the fuck, Bodie?" Poot was looking at him like he was fucking crazy.

"Stringer, man, he is all tall and regal and shit. Plus, he really be like a queen. I mean check it, not only is he running this whole collective thing, he is keeping the Barksdale crew in line. Plus, he is going legit, turning himself into the bank. Shit, he do everything. Got more tentacles than a fucking octopus."

Poot just gave him another one of those looks, the kind where he was try to glare away the thoughts in Bodie's head. "Don't let Stringer hear about you calling him a fucking homo. Especially here."

"I ain't calling him gay, fool. I am talking about chess."

The steps creaked as Slim Charles walked down the steps to them, beckoning. Bodie left Poot downstairs and walked up the stairs unescorted. He glanced down below at the flowers and glittery wallpaper. No tits on display, but he was still getting his wish, walking into the back office, called in for a job.

Of course it would have been nice to see some titties while he did it rather than Mr. Carleton all laid out below.

Charles opened to the door to the office for him. He could see Stringer shrugging out of a hoodie while pulling a fucking pink tie around his neck. His cellphone began ringing out. Stringer looked at the number before answering all professional and shit. He slid his piece into a drawer while saying something about tax breaks.

Bodie smiled while he waited. Stringer was the fucking queen.

 

****

ROOK

 

That black cop Carver who always hounded Bodie strolled through Hamsterdam carrying this big ass cardboard box. He looked all smug in the way that would have meant a beat-down a year before. He walked up to Bodie with a fucking smile on his face, all pleased and shit.

Bodie nodded his head sociably, ready to play along. "Sgt. Carver."

"Mr. Broadus, look at you being all respectable now."

"Hey, I am just a legal business man here, and you are sworn to protect and serve." Carver laughed a bit even as he hitched the box up onto the step by Bodie. "Watch it! This be my business here."

"Since we are being so nice today, you just volunteered yourself to help me with a little project." Carver was always coming up with shit to improve things, like he was some kind of great black savior watching over the fucking huddled masses of dope fiends and corner kids. Like Hamsterdam was his flock and he was some kind of preacher.

"Now in this box I have a bunch of board games. Now the deacon said some parishioner dropped them off, wanted them to go where they're needed. Now, I'm not always around to make sure these games get used by the kids, but you Bodie, you are just what I need, Mr. Responsible Businessman. Time to give back to the community."

Bodie flipped through the box, checking to see what was what. There was a chess game near the bottom of the stack. He let the top game boxes crash back down. "You think these punks want to play board games, would sit still long enough to play through a game of Monopoly when the sun is shining like this and they don't gotta do no work?"

Carver shrugged. "The deacon suggested it." He said it like it was some kind of done deal. Bodie thought back to when he had seen the deacon and shrugged himself. He could see how some people might not wanna mess with that man. He had a way of staring like the world would end, or at least your souls, if you did anything to disappoint him. "Cornered me at that new boxing gym."

"Fucking church men."

"Couldn't agree more."

Bodie beckoned over one of the kids who wasn't quite as useless as the others, had him start distributing the games. The dumbass stacked them up high in his arms, so high that top box teetered over, spilling its contents out among the broken bottles and empty vials. "Motherfucker."

Carver and Bodie both started picking up the fallen chess pieces, piling them back into the box. They worked together until Bodie noticed the cooperation. He looked around guiltily before settling back on his stoop.

He glanced down into the box. "You missed a piece, Carver."

"Fuck you, I did not."

"No, there are only three of those bam bam ones in the box, see? You lost one of the black ones."

"You a chess player, Bodie?" Carver's words were all sarcasm. Why did no one ever fucking believe him? "And what the fuck is a bam bam?"

Bodie grabbed one of the pieces from the box. "I'm gonna school you now. This the bam bam piece, cause see, it moves like this," Bodie punched out the fist holding the piece, first straight to the front then to the side.

Carver laughed at him, like this was some kind of clown act. "Your knowledge of chess astounds me, Bodie. Truly you are a paragon of knowledge, the Bobby Fisher of West Baltimore. Because for the life of me I thought piece you were holding was a rook."

"Nah, man, you be talking about the name of the thing, not what it is."

"Now that there was almost profound. I feel like I should be taking notes." Carver leaned over and picked up the missing piece from behind a fallen crackpipe. He extended it towards Bodie.

"You keep that." Bodie spread his arms wide as if to encompass all of Hamsterdam. "I already got my castle right here."

 

****

KING

 

Bodie was sitting on a step on his corner teaching some of the young'uns chess when Marlo rolled up all flash in that big-ass SUV of his. He had been coming around for awhile now. Everyone fucking knew he was aiming for taking over all the West Side, dropping bodies to get it, too. And now he come to parley or woo Bodie or some shit like that.

Word was around now that Avon's influence was almost gone, name and reign he built up all busted when the cops came through that armory door. It wasn't like the last time he got sent away, now that Stringer was riddled with holes and almost all the lieutenants locked up with him.

Fuck, Bodie was the probably the highest ranking person left in the remains of the Barksdale crew now that Slim Charles sold his ass out to Prop Joe. And there was no fucking way Bodie could hold all the West Side on his own. He might be a soldier, but he wasn't no one man army.

Shit, he wasn't even no Marlo Stanfield. Dude was all cold and icy, like he stood in one of those industrial freezers until his fucking soul froze up. The motherfucker was barely older than Bodie and here he was already running all those fucking corners when Bodie only had this one spot.

Marlo made Bodie feel ancient, a fucking trashed up late model town car or some other piece of shit junker. And there he was, rolling down the front window of his. For a minute Bodie considered not going over to see him, just staying where he was. But fuck, he was balanced here now, running all independent like he was. He needed to play nice.

Turns out he didn't need to though. For once Marlo actually got out of his ride and came over to Bodie. He nodded the young'uns off, and they scurried away fast.

"You play?" Marlo nodded at the chess board sitting out on the stoop.

Bodie nodded cautiously. Who the fuck knew what was going on in that fucker's head.

"You know, you can only play chess when you have a king." Marlo looked up from where he had been absently stroking the chessboard. "You lose your king, you lose the game."

"Do tell." The fucker wasn't even trying to be subtle, or at least if he was, Bodie had found something besides compassion Marlo was bad at.

Shit, Bodie knew wasn't no king yet. And he didn't need Marlo to fucking let him know he wasn't ever gonna be no king. Bodie was muscle, and he knew it. He could run a crew pretty good, and had some smarts, but man, he couldn't do none of that stuff Marlo did. Fucking ice king was what he was.

 

****

KNIGHT

Bodie played a chess game the day he died. Poot wasn't precisely bad at chess; he just didn't really care about it. He had been roped into playing it, first by Wallace with those big eyes, pleading like he was some fucking cartoon puppy, then by Bodie, who just kinda put the board down and glared if you brought up the fact that chess was a pretty bitch-ass game to play at all.

"Checkmate." Bodie had moved one of them horse-shaped things to where it challenged the king. Now he was just kind of staring at it.

"Man, why we wasting our time playing this game. Yo, I mean, I can't go to Tanya and be like, 'Sorry I was late, but Bodie wanted to play with little toy soldiers.'" Poot tried to catch Bodie's eye. The fucker had been all serious and shit since they found what was left of Lex.

But Bodie looked as worn down as the steps they were sitting on. "Life fucking lessons." He said it all serious, like he was joking, but you better listen damn hard to the words. But it was only that same shit about how they all be but little pieces on a board. Poot thought Bodie had listened to D'Angelo too much.

"No, see, this is only a fucking game. In life, there be way more than two sides." Poot thought about it for a second before pronouncing, "You ever play that game with those hippos, where they gobble up all those little balls. But, it is all random and shit, all those little marbles everywhere, ready to be swallowed? That what life be like." But Bodie didn't seem to listen as he packed his board away.

After Mike and Snoop came for Bodie, guns flashing under the streetlights, Poot took a bus downtown. He rode for a while, thinking. He picked up job applications before heading back, tucked tight next to the order form. The paper was crisp and clean under his fingers.

Poot did not cry when he saw Bodie's grave. He just reached down and traced the horse head carved into the gravestone. Bodie was a fucking soldier.


End file.
